Blurry Lines
by Betty BOKOR
Summary: A little study on the psychology of Reese and Finch between "Number Crunch" and "Super."


**B**lurry Lines ****by Betty Bokor  
>Reese and Finch's friendship (between "Number Crunch" and "Super").<br>Spoilers: Any episode already televised.  
>Disclaimer: Person of Interest original characters belong to the Columbia Broadcasting System-CBS Corporation, Kilter Films, Bad Robot, Warner Bros. Television, Jonathan Nolan, and J. J. Abrams. This was written strictly for the purpose of entertainment. No attempt at copyright infringement has been made.<p>

**_A.N. _**_I have been feeling pretty disappointed with Fantasy and Science Fiction and their readers, so I decided to take a little break and do something different. A little study on the psychology of Reese and Finch between "Number Crunch" and "Super". Beware of the spoilers and forgive my English deficiencies; I will never get all those nuances only native speakers can see. _

**Blurry Lines**

Reese walked across the parking lot feeling that strange mix of relief and restlessness that came with every mission accomplished since he had met Finch. They had averted one more tragedy, saved one more –_two_– innocent –_less guilty?_– victims, but there would be another number coming out of the machine before his most recent bruises had a chance to heal.

As he approached his vehicle, the slow moving S.U.V. to his left put him on high alert. He turned his face to look at it until it stopped somewhat close to him. He saw Snow getting out, but it was Carter coming out of the passenger side that truly surprised him.

"Hello, John." Snow started as if they had seen each other the day before.

"Mark." Reese kept eye contact while he silently withdrew his weapon behind his right leg.

"Glad to see you're still alive," Snow added.

"I bet you are," Reese replied with marked sarcasm.

"I'm surprised you ended up in New York City. Thought you'd get yourself a cabin in the woods.… Montana, maybe," Snow commented, seemingly talking to an old friend.

Reese smirked. That was enough. "What do you want, Mark?" he asked dryly.

"It's time to come home, John. The slate's been wiped clean."

Carter looked, surprised, first at Snow and then at Reese.

"You know that'll never happen," Reese said confidently and, less than a second later, he gasped as he felt the piercing pain that marked the trajectory of a bullet on his lower side. The shot knocked him to the floor.

In spite of the pain, he still had enough presence of mind to shoot one of the truck's lights off.

The second bullet hit him in the leg as he readied to fire at the second light. He shot it all the same, swiftly got up, and began running toward the stairs, counting on the new darkness of the night.

Finch could barely believe what he had just heard; he had not expected _that_ of Carter, especially after Reese had just saved her life. Nonetheless, he immediately knew that nothing good for Reese could come out from that. He stood up and put his plan in motion. He was ready. He had been ready all along, checking weekly his facts so that he would not end up reaching out to the wrong person or driving to the wrong place.

After one more unsuccessful attempt to communicate with Reese, he picked up the list and the bag with the money from his safe and quickly made a choice; Madani. He grabbed his keys and ran –as fast as his leg allowed him– to the car.

Reese was furious; furious at himself. As he managed his way down the stairs, he could not stop thinking that it was his fault. He knew not to trust Snow; he believed him capable to stab him in the back, but a sniper… That seemed too low even for Snow. He had not seen it coming.

The pain was strong and he could feel the warmth of the blood coming out of his wounds and spreading over his skin and clothes. He had no doubt he was leaving a trail behind, but with those injuries he would barely make it all the way down; he could not waste strength or time caring about anything else.

Maybe just one thing.

"Hey, Harold?" he tried and was relieved to hear Finch's voice back.

"John; I've been trying to call you," his concern showed in his reply.

Reese almost smiled. Of course Finch knew something had gone completely wrong. "Yeah… Oh, I've been kind of busy."

"Where are you?" Finch asked with urgency in his voice.

"In the parking structure," he let him know; but he had other matters to talk about; Finch had to understand that. "It's not looking good," he summarized.

"Carter sold you out. They got to her," Finch confided as he sped through the nearly deserted streets.

Reese had already guessed as much. "Yeah… They're clever like that." Now he had to get to the main point; he wanted to make sure Finch knew, in case he did not make it. "I wanted to say thank you, Harold, for giving me a second chance."

Finch swallowed hard. "It's not over, John. I'm close. Just get to the ground floor," he almost begged.

"No. You stay away. Wouldn't even risk it," was Reese's firm reply.

His words only strengthened Finch's resolution and he pressed his foot on the accelerator.

Reese stumbled upon the last steps of the stairs and pushed the door open with his shoulder, one hand still tightly holding his gun and the other putting pressure on the wound that bled the most. A few seconds later he saw Finch's car rush towards him through the entrance ramp. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and unsteadily began to walk toward it.

Finch got out of the car at a speed Reese did not think him capable of and limped to him. Reese stretched his arm and Finch held him. Right then, they heard Carter asking them to stop.

Finch watched her from behind Reese and noticed the immediate look of recognition as she noticed him. Then he saw hesitation and soon exasperated resignation. A decision had been made.

With relief, Finch observed her holstering her weapon and approaching to help Reese into the car.

Reese had turned to look at her, but there was nothing he could say to her. A short while ago he had warned her about the danger she was in and then he had saved her life. Now, she had brought his enemies to him; he had betrayed him –perhaps unaware of the possible consequences– and he was not willing to beg for her help. Her change of mind had surprised him more than her betrayal. And it had comforted him; he had been right about her after all. He should stop being so cynical about humanity.

After she helped him into the car, he conveyed his gratitude in one look. He did not have strength for more.

As soon as the door was shut and Finch backed out of the parking structure, Reese closed his eyes and tried to relax. It was not the first time he had been shot –or tortured– so he was familiar with the physical pain and he knew how to deal with it. And he had been close to death plenty of times; he was not afraid. However, the blood loss was another matter altogether; he could not control it and it was making him weaker by the minute.

But he was willing to fight. The only regret he was capable of feeling –at this point in his life– was to leave Finch behind, on his own. The mysterious man had truly given him a second chance, a new reason to get up every morning. A reason to like himself again. And, only for that, he was prepared to fight. Finch had saved him from himself and he owed him more than to surrender…

Plus, he could not stand the idea of letting Snow and his pal Evans –who had quite certainly shot him– win.

Finch pushed the stretcher along the silent corridors of the Medical Examiner's building as fast as his battered body allowed. Reese's eyes were open, but it was the soft rise and fall of his chest that reassured Finch. He was still alive and that was all that mattered.

He turned one corner and saw the door he was looking for. He swiftly covered Reese with a sheet and pushed the doors open. He saw his target standing by the morgue drawers.

"Third one tonight… Must be a full moon," the man joked without lifting his eyes from the computer screen.

Finch lifted the white sheet and uncovered Reese's bloodied body. This time the man looked and his eyes became hard.

Finch did not give him time to react beyond that. "Your name is Farouk Madani. You were the best surgeon in Najaf, but you cannot afford a license in the States because you send all your money home to family."

Then he grabbed the bag he had hanging from his shoulder, walked toward the surprised man, and dropped all its contents on the autopsy table. An inordinate amount of dollar bill packs piled up with a soft thud.

Finch walked back to Reese's side and continued. "Stitch him up, no questions asked, and you can be a doctor again," he finished looking down, hoping he had chosen the right man.

Madani did not hesitate for long. He soon walked to Reese's stretcher, lowered the side rails, and began to work.

Finch felt a tremendous weight lift from his shoulders. He had given Reese a fighting chance. He knew he was a tough, resilient man. Many would not have even survived up to that point, but he had and he was still –albeit barely– conscious. Thankfully, he seemed to have a reason to fight for his life. Finch secretly hoped that what Reese had told him that night was true. He hoped their work together was what was keeping him from giving up. Perhaps he was being selfish, but he could not remember the last time he had trusted someone –anyone– and, for some reason, he trusted Reese. Just like Reese probably only trusted him nowadays. They had found each other at a time when both were damaged goods, in more ways than one, and they had lost everyone they cared about, so they did not have anyone else in the world.

As the doctor directed him, Finch began to help with Reese's treatment. It was going to be a long night, but it did not matter. He was helping a friend.


End file.
